by Alex Rivers
Unless…
What if it wasn’t real?
I’d created fabricated reflections in mirrors—just yesterday, in fact, at the church. As adrenaline blazed through my veins, I ran to the bedroom and stared at the mirror, searching. I stared at my pale face, my body shaking, but I couldn’t link to Scarlett.
Either she was too far for my abilities to locate, or the fae who’d captured her had covered up the reflections to sever the line.
Trembling, I ran to my phone and dialed the number the CIA officer had given me. After three rings, a man answered.
“This is Fulton.”
“Hi.” A hot tear rolled down my cheek. “This is Special Agent Cassandra Liddell. I was given this number—”
“Yes, Agent. Your phone isn’t secure, so please keep it simple.”
I tried to keep my voice steady, but the tears were streaming now. I knew something was wrong, that it hadn’t just been an illusion. “Did anyone manage to locate Scarlett?”
A moment of silence. “No.”
I gripped the phone tighter, pressing it to my ear. “Are you sure?” I asked, frantic. “She might be in her hotel or—”
“She is currently unavailable.”
“I might have some information about her whereabouts.” I wiped another tear from my cheek. “But I’ll need your help.”
Fulton took a deep breath. “Come to the embassy.” The line went dead.
I shoved the phone in my pocket.
Scarlett meant the world to me, and that was exactly what the abductor wanted. Complete and utter leverage, to control me through fear. He wanted me to immediately jump and act on his demands. And yet, I had to put those feelings aside, think of it as a professional. If I had been called to assist on this kidnapping case, what would I have done?
Slowly, I exhaled. First, I’d demand proof of life. I had just seen Scarlett, but I couldn’t be certain it had been reality and not an illusion. If wanted to demand something, I first needed to establish a line of communication. In this case, I had the mirror, and since I couldn’t bond with it, the abductor was probably still watching me.
I rushed into the bedroom, flinging clothes around until I found my bag. Frantically, I rummaged around it until I found a pen and an old receipt. Bending over the bed, I scribbled a short note: I need proof that Scarlett is alive. What is her favorite food?
Then, I hurried back into the bathroom, thrusting it at the mirror, a bead of sweat trickling down my temple. I tried to maintain a fixed, cold posture as I held it up, tried to calm the shaking in my hands. If the abductor saw terror etched over my features, he’d consider it a victory. I had to show him I was in control.
Stony-faced, I held it up as a minute went by. Then another.
Was he watching me? I was sure he was. Watching, searching for weakness. Control, it was all about control.
Another minute. Maybe he didn’t really have her, or perhaps he wasn’t into two-way communication. He’d be communicating on his terms only.
After five minutes, I slowly lowered the paper. The CIA might be able to help establish a line of communication, and maybe they could trace—
Shit!
My heart thrumming, I dashed back to my handbag, rifling through it until I found the magic scanner. Racing back to the bathroom, I pointed the wand at the mirror.
Nothing.
If there had been remnants of magic there, they had dispersed. Damn it! The CIA could have used that information.
I gritted my teeth. Whatever the message meant, the time limit was quite clear. Scarlett’s seconds were ticking away, and if I failed, she would burn.
* * *
Gabriel stood behind me, frowning at the bloodied mirror. I had filled him in quickly, dragging him to the bathroom to look at the note.
“Any idea?” I asked. “We have to take someone named Lucy to Sheerness Dock?”
He took a deep breath. “Some of it’s familiar. Not sure what it all means together.”
My pulse was racing. “Give me what you have.”
“Hang on.” He had pulled out his phone. “To start with, Sheerness Dock is nowhere bloody near here. It’s in Kent. And not the close part of Kent.”
“How far is the drive?”
“Looks like an hour and a half, assuming there’s no traffic.”
“Wonderful.”
I checked my phone for the time—just before nine. “Okay, well, we have time. I just don’t know who Lucy is. Is it just me or does Lucy Locket not sound like a real name?”
“It’s an old nursery rhyme, and this is a variation on it. After the first line, it all changes. She was a prostitute, or a courtesan or something. The pocket… I don’t know, but I always just assumed that was her…” He cleared his throat. “You know, her pocket.”
I stared at him. “Okay.”
“There’s another link to prostitutes there. The Winchester Geese. Medieval prostitutes, licensed to operate by London’s Bishop of Winchester. Called the geese because they beckoned men to their rooms with long, white gloves.”
This made no sense. “Scarlett isn’t a prostitute, so I don’t get the connection. I don’t understand how this all adds up.”
Gabriel’s eyebrows drew together. “What are the chances that the Rix and this new person both independently communicate through bloody nursery rhymes? That it’s just a coincidence?”
I shook my head. “Maybe that’s how the fae speak to each other. I don’t understand the whole prostitute thing, though.”
“What did you tell me about the attitude towards women in Trinovantum?”
My pulse was cracking out of control. “They have some very old-fashioned views about women’s virtue.”
He nodded slowly. “Maybe whoever is doing this is suggesting that you’re morally corrupt or something.”
“So they’re coming after me for some reason.” I took a shuddering breath, no longer able to convince myself this had all been a ruse. “And we need to get a Lucy Locket to Kent by one, or, supposedly, they’ll burn Scarlett alive.”
Gabriel raked his fingers through his hair. “It’s an eighteenth-century rhyme. If Lucy had ever been real, she’d be dead by now.”
“Fae live for centuries. She’s probably a fae, and we just have to find her. Maybe she’s a sex fae, like Roan. Where were the Winchester Geese? Did they have a particular brothel?”
“Southwark.”
“Do you have any specifics?”
“Winchester Palace had connection to the Winchester Geese. The palace ruins are still there. That’s all I have to go on.”
I wrung my hands together. “Okay.” Whenever I walked in the ancient parts of the city, I felt a surge of energy. “I’ve been getting the feeling that fae like to stick around all these old buildings. Maybe Lucy Locket hangs out by Winchester Palace. We just need to find her, and get her to Kent.”
Gabriel picked up the parchment. “What’s this?”
I’d almost forgotten about it. “It came through the mirror.”
Gabriel carefully examined both sides.
I pulled it from his grasp. “I don’t suppose you know what it says?”
“Nope.”
“Maybe this is something we need to give to Lucy so that she’ll come with us.”
“Maybe.” Gabriel scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “I have a question for you. Is this person targeting Scarlett just to get to you? Or could it be about Scarlett?”
I swallowed hard. “Scarlett’s CIA unit handles fae activity. I found that out yesterday. It’s highly confidential; that’s why I didn’t tell you earlier.”
He stared at me. “Okay.”
“Before I head to Winchester Palace, I’m meeting one of the CIA officers in the embassy. Maybe they’ll have a better clue than we do about what the hell this parchment means, and the nursery rhyme. They could bring in the big guns, maybe locate Scarlett with their gadgets. They have analysts that can work on the message, and translate the writing on this paper, and a
ll sorts of devices that can—”
“Okay, I get it. They’re the best,” Gabriel said.
I took a picture of the bloodied mirror with my phone to show the CIA. “I’ll go talk to them, while you go sniff around those ruins and see what you can find. Maybe Lucy is lurking nearby…”
“But we’ve got very little time. Don’t you think it’s better if we go looking for this Lucy together?”
“The CIA can probably get us a chartered helicopter to fly us to Kent.”
“Good point.
“I’ll join you in Southwark once I’m done.”
“I’ll drop you off at the tube station, and I’ll drive to Southwark. We’ll have the car there to drive to Kent in case we can’t get a helicopter on time.” He arched an eyebrow. “Did you say Roan was a sex fae?”
I cleared my throat. “It’s not important.”
“Right.” He shook his head, as if trying to clear the image. “Anyway, if we don’t get ourselves a helicopter, we’ve got two and a half hours to find Lucy.”
“If you find Lucy before I get there, don’t let her out of your sight.” I yanked my bag off the floor and pulled out the gun with the iron bullets, handing it to him. “If she tries something, use this.”
He took the gun from me carefully and checked it. Satisfied, he looked at me. “Cassandra. We’re going to get Scarlett back.”
“Sure,” I said without conviction. “See you there.”
Chapter 8
After a quick underground ride, I strode through the grassy Grosvenor Square toward the embassy. My thoughts churned in my mind. Hadn’t Roan said I was in danger? So how, exactly, did he know? I was being targeted, and he’d predicted it. If only five-hundred-year-old fae warriors carried cell phones, I might be able to clear this up.
When I got closer, I took out my phone and looked at it. Quarter to ten. I called Fulton again.
“Agent Liddell,” he said.
“Yeah.” I answered. “Listen, we don’t have much time. I’m almost there.”
“Good. I’ll wait for you outside to bring you into our London Station.”
“No, wait, Fulton. We have no time to—”
The line went dead.
“Asshole.” Fulton really needed to improve his phone manners.
In front of the embassy stood a balding man in a suit, his cold blue eyes fixed right on me.
I flashed my FBI badge at him as I approached. “Fulton?”
He nodded.
“Agent Liddell.”
He pulled open the door. “Come in, we’ll talk inside.”
“No. There’s no time. Scarlett has been abducted, and whoever took her will kill her by one o’clock if I don’t get something to Kent on time. And not the close part of Kent. We can talk on the way.”
“I must insist that we talk inside.” Fulton looked over my shoulder. “These matters can’t be discussed out here, it’s not—”
“Listen, Fulton. We have very little time. Here, let me show you.” I shoved my hand into my bag, intending to take out my phone and show him the picture of the message in the mirror.
His reaction was instantaneous. His hand flew to his side and drew his gun, aiming it at my chest. I stared at him, stunned.
“Don’t move, Liddell. Don’t even think about moving.”
“I was just reaching for my phone.” My jaw clenched, anger surging. “Are you insane?”
“Am I insane? Let’s review. You show up here yesterday, and the moment we get a fae detector on you, it acts up. Sure, we thought it just malfunctioned. But then a case officer called us to tell us she was with you, when suddenly the line went dead. We checked her locator, and realized it was offline. We haven’t seen her since. So what would you think?”
My heart pounded. This had gone very wrong. “You have it all mixed up. I got a message this morning. Scarlett has been—”
“I’ve got it mixed up? That’s easy enough to test.” He kept one hand on the gun, and with the other, he reached behind his back, pulling out a long, black wand. “A fae detector. Very sensitive. I assure you, it doesn’t malfunction. Let me just scan you, and get this misunderstanding behind us, shall we?”
“Listen.” I took a step back.
“Don’t fucking move!” he barked. He aimed the device at me and pressed something.
It instantly began to emit a high-pitched whine.
“How surprising, Liddell,” Fulton snarled. “You know what it says here? Let me give you a hint. It doesn’t say human.”
“For fuck’s sake—”
“Are you really Agent Liddell? Or did you kill her and take her place? Don’t move, fae, and don’t get any ideas. The gun is full of iron bullets.”
I held my hands above my head, staring at him in frustration. I had to get him to help me. If I could just reach into my bag, I could pull out that pendant Alvin had given me. If Fulton looked into it, he’d do whatever I wanted.
“Let me just show you one thing.” Slowly, I reached down for my bag. “I’m going to pull it out of my bag. It’s not a weapon, it’s—”
“I don’t think so!” He shouted. “Put the bag on the ground. Now!”
Shit. I knelt and slid my bag off my shoulder onto the ground.
“Kick it over here.”
I did as he said. He bent and picked it up, never taking his eyes off me, his gun still pointed at my chest. He hoisted the bag on his shoulder and opened it with his free hand. Then he glanced inside and raised his eyes, smiling mockingly. “Not fae, huh?” he asked. He pulled the rune-scrawled paper from the bag. “I suppose this is written in English?”
I held out my hands, as if trying to calm a wild animal. “You don’t understand—”
“No more talking!” He put the paper in his pocket, and then took another look into the bag. I considered rushing him, but I was too far away. “And, as I expected, a weapon.” He stuck his hand in his bag, pulling out the iron knife.
Instantly, his mouth slackened, his eyes widening as the knife began screaming for blood in his mind.
I lunged forward, shoving his hand with the gun up in the air. His gun arm had gone limp, and the weapon clattered to the floor. But his other arm swung for me fast, the corrupted knife in his grip. My own fear spurred me on with wild energy, and adrenaline burned through my nerve endings.
I blocked his arm, the blade slicing through my shirt and cutting my side. The cut wasn’t deep, but the blade was iron, and I could hear the evil thing whispering gleefully with my blood on its tip. Fulton’s eyes were unfocused, but his lips were moving, whispering the knife’s threats and curses, his voice guttural and angry. Behind him, I glimpsed three suited men rushing out, pulling out guns. I twisted Fulton’s hand, and he screamed in pain, loosening the knife. I snatched the blade from his hand, tore my bag from his shoulder, and bolted, sprinting for St. Audley Street.
“Stop!” someone screamed behind me. Praying that they wouldn’t shoot in a street full of civilians, I dashed onto the sidewalk.
I sprinted, my breath ragged in my throat. At an intersection, a black cab screeched to a halt, the hood blocking my way. I leapt onto it, rolling over the hood, landing hard on the other side. From under the cab, I could see four sets of feet pounding toward me—Fulton and the three other agents.
The cab driver was getting out of the car, yelling something at me. Time for me to lose the spooks for good.
Inching up, I glanced at the rearview mirror of the cab, feeling the reflection, searching for a different one, far away…
Then, I froze.
I couldn’t leave without the damn fae runes. Whatever they meant, I might need them to get Scarlett back.
Slowly, I lifted my head, peering through the cab window, and one of the agents raised his gun. I dove just as he shot, and the bullet shattered the glass, whistling inches from my head.
To my left was a street full of shops, and civilians milled around the sidewalks. At the sound of gunshots, they began screaming, trying to run. I
sprinted for them, followed close behind by the agents. They wouldn’t shoot at me in the crowd.
Looking over my shoulder, I saw two of the agents behind me, jostling people out of their way.
My lungs burned, and screams pierced the air. And then thirty feet in front of me: Fulton’s face, red with rage. He and another spook had run ahead and cut off my escape route.
I had less than a second to decide what to do. I nearly ran back into the road, but police sirens were winding through the air now. Soon, I’d have the cops to deal with too. My heart slammed against my ribs. If I didn’t get out of this, Scarlett would burn alive.
Frantic, I glanced to my left: a boutique clothing shop. I lunged, yanking open the door and scrambled into the shop. A sleek-haired sales assistant gaped at me as I looked around frantically, searching for a way out through the back.
There was none.
But there were dozens of mirrors.
It was time to stop thinking like prey, and to start thinking like a hunter.
Chapter 9
I dashed through a doorway to the changing booths, and a quick scan told me each one was occupied, with feet below the curtains. There was no time for niceties. I pulled open one of the curtains, revealing a young man in his underwear and a T-shirt, clutching a pair of jeans.
“Those look great on you.” I grabbed him, pulling him out and throwing his shoes after him.
I yanked the curtain closed, ignoring the man’s confused protests. Outside, I could hear Fulton screaming at the sales assistant.
I blocked that out, and focused on forming a bond with the mirror, letting my mind click with its reflection, until I felt a coolness spreading in my skull. From the reflection, I searched for a different mirror that showed me the entire shop, scanning through the possibilities until I found the right one. Fulton and his pals were standing in the middle of the shop, guns in hand. Panicking shoppers ran for the door.
“Where is the back door?” Fulton barked at the woman behind the counter, using a British accent.
